"You'll like this," Miles whispered. His breath on her ear ran a current under her skin.
I already do, she thought to herself.
Miss Harkins set the cup of tea aside. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper.
There are ghosts and there is love,
And both are present here,
To those who listen, this tale will tell
The truth of love and if it's near.
Sarah stole a quick peek at Miles.
"Harris Presser," Miss Harkins announced, "had been born in 1843 to owners of a small candle-making shop in downtown New Bern. Like many young men of the period, Harris wanted to serve for the Confederacy when the War of Southern Independence began. Because he was an only son, however, both his mother and father begged him not to go. In listening to their wishes, Harris Presser irrevocably sealed his fate."
Here, Miss Harkins paused and looked at them.
"He fell in love," she said softly.
For a second, Sarah wondered if Miss Harkins was also referring to them. Miss Harkins's eyebrows rose slightly, as if she were reading Sarah's thoughts, and Sarah glanced away.
"Kathryn Purdy was only seventeen, and like Harris, she was also an only child. Her parents owned both the hotel and the logging mill, and were the wealthiest family in town. They didn't associate with the Pressers, but both families were among those that stayed in town after New Bern fell to Union forces in 1862. Despite the war and the occupation, Harris and Kathryn began meeting by the Neuse River on early summer evenings, just to talk, and eventually Kathryn's parents found out. They were angry and forbade their daughter to see Harris anymore, since the Pressers were regarded as commoners, but it had the effect of binding the young couple even closer together. But it wasn't easy for them to see each other. In time, they devised a plan, in order to escape the watchful eyes of Kathryn's parents. Harris would stand in his parents' candle shop down the street, watching for the signal. If her parents were asleep, Kathryn would put a lighted candle on the sill, and Harris would sneak over. He would climb the massive oak tree right outside her window and help her down. In this way, they met as often as they could, and as the months passed, they fell deeper and deeper in love."
Miss Harkins took another sip of her tea, then narrowed her eyes slightly. Her voice took on a more ominous tone.
"By now, the Union forces were tightening their grip on the South--the news from Virginia was grim, and there were rumors that General Lee was going to swing down with his army from northern Virginia and try to retake eastern North Carolina for the Confederacy. A curfew was instituted and anyone caught outside in the evening, especially young men, was likely to be shot. Unable now to meet with Kathryn, Harris contrived to work late in his parents' shop, lighting his own candle in the store window so that Kathryn would know he was longing to see her. This went on for weeks, until one day, he smuggled a note to Kathryn through a sympathetic preacher, asking her to elope with him. If her answer was yes, she was supposed to put two candles in the window--one that said she agreed, and the second as a signal for when it was safe for him to come and get her. That night, the two candles were lit, and despite all the odds, they were married that night under a full moon, by the same sympathetic preacher who'd delivered the note. All of them had risked their lives for love.
"But, unfortunately, Kathryn's parents discovered another secret letter that Harris had written. Enraged, they confronted Kathryn with what they knew. Kathryn defiantly told them that there was nothing they could do. Sadly, she was only partly right.
"A few days later, Kathryn's father, who had a working relationship with the Union colonel in charge of the occupation, contacted the colonel and informed him that there was a Confederate spy in their midst, someone in contact with General Lee, who was passing secret information about the town's defenses. In light of the rumors about Lee's probable invasion, Harris Presser was arrested in his parents' shop. Before he was taken out to be hanged, he asked for one favor--a candle to be lighted in the window of his shop--and it was granted. That night, from the limbs of the giant oak tree in front of Kathryn's window, Harris Presser was hanged. Kathryn was heartbroken, and she knew her father had been responsible.
"She went to see Harris's parents and asked for the candle that had been burning in the window the night that Harris died. Overcome by grief, they hardly knew what to make of the strange request, but she explained that she wanted something to remember 'the kindly young man who'd always been so courteous to her.' They gave it to her, and that night she lit both candles and set them on the windowsill. Her parents found her the next day. She'd committed suicide by hanging herself from the same giant oak tree."
On the porch, Miles pulled Sarah a little closer to him. "How do you like it so far?" he whispered.
"Shh," she answered. "We're getting to the ghost part, I think."
"Those candles burned all night and the following day, until they were nothing more than little knobs of wax. But still they burned. On into the next night, then the next. They burned for three days, as long as Kathryn and Harris had been married, and then they went out. The following year, on Harris and Kathryn's anniversary, Kathryn's unused room mysteriously caught fire, but the house was saved. More bad luck followed for the Purdy family--the hotel was lost in a flood and the logging mill was taken to pay debts. In financial ruin, Kathryn's parents moved away, abandoning the house. But..."
Miss Harkins leaned forward, a look of mischief in her eyes. Her voice sank to a whisper.
"Every now and then, people would swear that they could see two candles burning in the window above. Others would swear there was only one... but that another was burning in another abandoned building down the street. And even now, over a hundred years later, people still claim to see candles burning in the windows of some of the abandoned houses down here. And it's strange--the only people who see them are young couples in love. Whether or not you two will see them depends on your feelings for each other."
Miss Harkins closed her eyes, as if telling the story had drained her. For a minute she didn't move, and Sarah and Miles sat frozen in place, afraid to break the spell. Then she finally opened her eyes again and reached for her tea.
After saying good-bye, Miles and Sarah descended the porch steps and returned to the gravel path. Miles took Sarah's hand again as they approached the street. As if still under the spell of Miss Harkins's story, neither Miles nor Sarah said anything for a long while.
"I'm glad we went there," Sarah finally offered.
"So you liked it?"
"All women love romantic stories."
They rounded the corner and neared Front Street; ahead, they could make out the river between the homes, gliding silently, shining black.
"Are you ready for something to eat?"
"In a minute," he said, slowing down, then finally stopping.
She looked at him. Over his shoulder, she could see moths fluttering around the glowing street lamp. Miles was staring into the distance, toward the river, and Sarah followed his eyes but didn't see anything out of the ordinary.
"What is it?" she asked.
Miles shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He wanted to start walking again but found he couldn't. Instead he took a step toward Sarah, pulling her gently toward him. Sarah followed his lead, her stomach tightening. As Miles leaned toward her, she closed her eyes, and when their faces drew near, it was as if nothing else mattered in the world.
The kiss went on and on, and when they finally pulled apart, Miles embraced her. He buried his face in her neck, then kissed the hollow of her shoulder. The moisture of his tongue made her shiver, and she leaned into him, savoring the safe harbor of his arms as the rest of the world went on around them.
A few minutes later they walked back to her apartment, talking softly, his thumb moving gently over the back of her hand.
Once inside, Miles draped his jacket over the back of the chair as Sarah made her way to the kitchen. He wondered if she knew h
e was watching her.
"So what's for dinner?" he asked.
Sarah opened the refrigerator door and pulled out a large pan covered in tinfoil. "Lasagna, French bread, and a salad. Is that okay?"
"Sounds great. Can I give you a hand with anything?"
"It's pretty much done," Sarah answered as she put the pan in the oven. "All I have to do is heat this for a half hour or so. But if you want, you can start the fire. And open the wine--it's on the counter."
"No problem," he said.
"I'll join you in the living room in a few minutes," Sarah called out as she headed for the bedroom.
In the bedroom, Sarah picked up a hairbrush and began to pull it through her hair.
Much as she wanted to deny it, their kiss had left her feeling a bit shaky. She sensed that tonight was a turning point in their relationship, and she was scared. She knew that she had to tell Miles the real reason for the collapse of her marriage, but it wasn't easy to talk about. Especially to someone she cared about.
As much as she knew he cared about her as well, there was no telling what his response would be or if it would change his feelings about being with her. Hadn't he said that he wished that Jonah had a brother or sister? Would he be willing to give that up?
Sarah found her reflection in the mirror.
She didn't want to do this now, but she knew that if their relationship was to go any further, she would have to tell him. More than anything, she didn't want history to repeat itself, for Miles to do what Michael had done. She couldn't go through that again.
Sarah finished brushing her hair, checked her makeup through force of habit, and, resolving to face Miles with the truth, began to leave the bedroom. But instead of heading out the door, she suddenly sat on the edge of the bed. Was she really ready for this?
Right now, the answer to that question frightened her more than she could say.
By the time she finally emerged from the bedroom, the fire was blazing. Miles was returning from the kitchen, carrying the bottle of wine.
"Just thought we might need this," he said, lifting the bottle a little higher.
"I think that's probably a good idea," Sarah agreed.
The way she said it seemed off somehow to Miles, and he hesitated. Sarah made herself comfortable on the couch, and after a moment, he put the wine on the end table and sat beside her. For a long time, Sarah simply drank her wine in silence. Finally Miles reached for her hand.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
Sarah gently swirled the wine in her glass. "There's something I haven't told you yet," she said quietly.
Miles could hear the sound of cars as they rolled past her apartment. The logs in the fireplace popped, causing a shower of sparks to ascend the chimney. Shadows danced on the walls.
Sarah pulled one leg up and crossed it beneath her. Miles, knowing she was collecting her thoughts, watched her in silence before giving her hand an encouraging squeeze.
It seemed to bring her back to the present. Miles saw the flames flickering in her eyes.
"You're a good man, Miles," she said, "and these last few weeks have really meant a lot to me." She stopped again.
Miles didn't like the sound of this and wondered what had happened in the few minutes that she was in the bedroom. As he watched her, he felt his stomach begin to clench.
"Do you remember when you asked me about my ex-husband?"
Miles nodded.
"I didn't finish the story. There was more to it than just the things I told you, and... and I don't know exactly how to say it."
"Why?"
She glanced toward the fire. "Because I'm afraid of what you might think."
As a sheriff, a number of ideas occurred to him--that her ex had been abusive, that he'd hurt her somehow, that she'd left the relationship wounded in some way. Divorce was always painful, but the way she looked now suggested there was much more to it than simply that.
He smiled, hoping for some response, but there was nothing.
"Listen, Sarah," he finally said, "you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I won't ask about it again. That's your business, and I've learned enough about you in the past few weeks to know what kind of person you are, and that's all that matters to me. I don't need to know everything about you--and to be honest, I doubt that whatever you'd say would change the way I feel about you."
Sarah smiled, but her eyes refused to meet his. "Do you remember when I asked you about Missy?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Do you remember the things you said about her?"
Miles nodded.
"I remember them, too." For the first time, she met his eyes. "I want you to know that I can never be like her."
Miles frowned. "I know that," he said. "And I don't expect you to--"
She held up her hands. "No, Miles--you misunderstand me. It's not that I think you're attracted to me because I'm like Missy. I know that's not it. But I wasn't very clear."
"Then what is it?" he asked.
"Do you remember when you told me what a good mother she was? And how much you both wanted Jonah to have siblings?" She paused but didn't expect an answer. "I can't ever be like that. That's the reason Michael left me."
Her eyes finally locked on his. "I couldn't get pregnant. But it wasn't him, Miles. He was fine. It was me."
And then, as if driving the point home, in case he didn't understand, she put it as plainly as she could.
"I can't have children. Ever."
Miles said nothing, and after a long moment, Sarah went on.
"You can't imagine what it was like to find out. It just seemed so ironic, you know? I'd spent my early twenties trying not to get pregnant. I used to panic if I forgot to take my birth control pills. I never even considered that I might not be able to have children."
"How did you find out?"
"The usual way. It just didn't happen. We finally went in for tests. That was when I found out."
"I'm sorry," was all Miles could think to say.
"So am I." She exhaled sharply, as if she still had trouble believing it. "And so was Michael. But he couldn't handle it. I told him that we could still adopt, and I'd be perfectly happy with that, but he refused to even consider it because of his family."
"You're kidding...."
Sarah shook her head. "I wish I were. Looking back, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. When we first started going out, he used to say that I was the most perfect woman he'd ever met. As soon as something happened that proved otherwise, he was willing to throw away everything we had." She stared into her wineglass, talking almost to herself. "He asked for a divorce, and I moved out a week later."
Miles took her hand without a word and nodded for her to continue.
"After that... well, it hasn't been easy. It's not the sort of thing you bring up at cocktail parties, you know. My family knows, and I talked to Sylvia about it. She was my counselor and she helped me a lot, but those four are the only ones who knew. And now you...."
She trailed off. In the firelight, Miles thought she had never looked more beautiful. Her hair caught fragments of light and cast them off like a halo.
"So why me?" Miles finally asked.
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Not really."
"I just thought you should know. I mean, before ... Like I said, I don't want it to happen again... ." She looked away.
Miles gently turned her face back to him. "Do you really think I'd do that?"
Sarah looked at him sadly. "Oh, Miles...it's easy to say that it doesn't matter right now. What I'm worried about is how you'll feel later, after you've had the chance to think about this. Let's say we keep seeing each other and things go as well as they have up to this point. Can you honestly say that it won't matter to you? That being able to have children wouldn't be important to you? That Jonah would never have a little brother or sister running around the house?"
She cleared her throat. "I know I'm jumping the gun here, and don't think that by telling
you all this, I expect us to get married. But I had to tell you the truth, so you'd know what you're getting into--before this goes any further. I can't let myself go any further unless I'm certain that you're not going to turn around and do the same thing that Michael did. If it doesn't work out for another reason, fine. I can live with that. But I can't face again what I've already gone through once."
Miles looked toward his glass, saw the light reflected there. He traced the rim with his finger.
"There's something you should know about me, too," he said. "I had a really hard time after Missy died. It wasn't just that she died--it was also that I never found out who'd been driving the car that night. That's what my job is, both as her husband and as sheriff. And for a long time, finding out who'd been driving was all I could think about. I investigated on my own, I talked to people, but whoever did it got away, and that ate at me like you can't imagine. I felt like I was going crazy for a long time, but lately..."
His voice was tender as he met her eyes.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't need time, Sarah...I don't know ...I just know that I'm missing something in my life, and that until I met you, I didn't know what it was. If you want me to take some time to think about it, I will. But that would be for you--not for me. You haven't said anything that could change the way I feel about you. I'm not like Michael. I could never be like him."
In the kitchen, the timer went off with a ding, and both of them turned at the sound. The lasagna was ready, but neither of them moved. Sarah suddenly felt light-headed, though she didn't know if it was the wine or Miles's words. Carefully, she set her wineglass on the table and, taking a slow breath, stood from the couch.
"Let me get the lasagna before it burns."
In the kitchen, she paused to lean against the counter, the words coming once more.
I don't need time, Sarah.
You haven't said anything that could change the way I feel about you.
It didn't matter to him. And best of all, she believed him. The things he'd said, the way he'd looked at her... Since the divorce, she'd almost come to believe that no one she met would understand.
She left the pan of lasagna on the stovetop. When she returned to the living room, Miles was sitting on the couch, staring into the fire. She sat down and rested her head on his shoulder, letting him pull her close. As they both watched the fire, she could feel the gentle rise and fall of his chest. His hand was moving rhythmically against her, her skin tingling wherever he touched.